


Siors

by TrumpetGeek



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Complete, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrumpetGeek/pseuds/TrumpetGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This story is about a young man named Arthur, a pond, and a mysterious soldier no one remembers the name of."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ascalon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sweethearts Week Day 2 –legends and fairytales. I chose the legend of St George because 1. I imagine it’s rarely done in Hetalia and 2. I have connections to St George (I lived in England, and I’ve been to Barcelona and Greece, all of which he is a patron saint). He’s also mentioned in Shakespeare’s Richard III and King Lear.

**This** story is about a young man named Arthur, a pond, and a mysterious stranger no one remembers the name of, whom everyone calls George.

Once upon a time, in the center of a sprawling city called Lasia, in a country so ancient no one can remember the name, there was a pond. The pond, which was really quite large enough to be called a lake, used to be a gathering place for the townspeople, and the people in the surrounding countryside. It used to be teeming with life –a place for women to wash clothes and for farmers to wash their harvest, a place for children to play in the hot summers, a place for merchants to sell their wares. All manner of plant and animal life could be observed from its banks. The pond attracted people from all over the known world. Yes, it had been a wonderful resource, and the townspeople of Lasia were very proud to play host to such a lovely sight.

Even though the pond had once been the jewel of Lasia as recent as ten years ago, now it could only be called a pock on the land; a symbol of all the misery and pain that had befallen the people of Lasia in the last decade –especially for the ruler of Lasia, King Selinus.

Everyone would agree that King Selinus was a good king and a good man. He was fortunate to have four wonderful sons whom he taught the meaning of equality and fairness by the example of his rule. The three eldest sons were a rowdy bunch and Selinus could be heard saying that they reminded him of a younger version of himself. Even Arthur sometimes joined in on their trouble-making.

It was the fall after Arthur turned nine that things began to change. A plague began to ravage the outer counties, and Selinus’ people began to die. The king’s children –Alasdair, Rhys, Padraig, and Arthur –had heard about the plague, but it seemed so distant, and the king’s advisor, Francis, often waved off any questions Arthur might have had. Eventually the boys forgot about the plague and continued on with their lives.

When Arthur was twelve, he heard from Alasdair –who, incidentally, Arthur had discovered sneaking out of the castle to have a naughty affair with one of the stable boys –that the reason people stayed away from the pond was because there was supposedly some kind of angry creature living in its depths. According to Alasdair, who was only talking to Arthur about this because of what Arthur had discovered, the creature was the cause of the plague that was spreading rampant throughout the town and the countryside.

When Arthur had asked his father about whether that was true, King Selinus had just brushed him off; strangely enough, Arthur had never seen that stable boy again after that, and Alasdair quit talking to him for almost a month, spending the time he usually spent rabble-rousing with his brothers in his room, sulking.

The year Arthur turned thirteen was the year he accidentally discovered why farmers had been complaining of their sheep going missing. He was hiding in the advising room’s closet from Padraig, whose dessert he had eaten earlier in revenge for Padraig pulling his seat from under him when he was trying to sit, when he heard footsteps and the creak of an opening and closing door. In walked his father and his father’s favorite advisor, Francis, and they were talking about the missing sheep.

Arthur ended up staying in the closet for over half an hour out of fear of being caught overhearing something he wasn’t supposed to, waiting until well after the two adults left to exist the tiny, cramped space. The young prince all but fell out of the closet, limping as quickly as he could to his bedchambers, where he laid awake the entire night replaying the conversation in his head; the king not only knew about the farmers’ missing sheep, he was the one who was taking them.

_“But sir, the farmers are growing suspicious,” Francis was saying. “And besides, we have been feeding it one sheep a week for the last twelve weeks, and hardly anything has changed. Only the outer counties have seen slight improvement!”_

_“Then we are obviously not sacrificing enough sheep to keep it happy.”_

_“Sir, the farmers –”_

_“I don’t care. Tell the farmers that their sheep are being taken for royal purposes. Pay them. Do whatever you have to do to keep them from prying. If sacrificing sheep to that monster is working even in the slightest in the outer counties, it could work here, too.”_

Not only were sheep going missing, which was having a bad enough impact on the town’s economy, but they were being used as sacrifices to some kind of monster that was living in the pond.

‘So,’ Arthur mused as he pulled his bedclothes up to his chin, ‘the stable boy had been right after all. And my own father lied to me.’

Thirteen was also the year that Arthur learned the meaning of self-dependency.

The following fourteen months saw an increase in the number of sheep sacrificed to the pond creature, from one sheep per week to two per day. The number of people diagnosed with the plague leveled off, and the people of Lasia was ready to rejoice the dissolution of the black shadow that had hung over their city and countryside for the last six years.

And then everything started to happen very quickly. Rhys fell ill. The royal doctors did everything they could to keep the plague contained, but within five days it had spread to Padraig, and within another three to Alasdair. Arthur was kept well away from the wing of the castle in which his brothers resided, and a few days after Alasdair became ill Arthur’s bedchamber was moved across the castle. Even after he was moved, Arthur thought that he could hear his brothers’ wheezing breaths, their wet coughs, their tired and feverish moans.

Padraig was the first to die, followed quickly by Rhys and, much to King Selinus’ despair, his eldest, Alasdair. Where once there were four princes, now there was only one –one lonely, sad prince who didn’t even get to say goodbye to his brothers.

The day after that, the king enacted a lottery. The names of all the children in the land under the age of eighteen were put in the lottery, and when Francis drew a name once a month, that child was sought out by the king’s knights and brought back to the banks of the pond to be sacrificed to the demon-monster within.

Arthur didn’t like this new development, didn’t like this new king that appeared after the deaths of three of his sons, so he spent most of his time in the royal library, learning a crash course in how to one day be a king and avoiding everyone as much as he possibly could except for Francis, who somehow wormed his way into Arthur’s heart and became the boy’s only friend.

The days became weeks, which changed to months, and eventually grew to years, and the townspeople, who had been outraged at the enacting of the lottery, grew to accept the sacrifice of their children as a normal way of life, and even an honor. Yes, what a great honor it was to sacrifice your child to the pond monster for the good of Lasia.

Then, just before Arthur turned eighteen, Francis drew his name out of the lottery. King Selinus tried to cover it up by offering the townspeople all his gold to look the other way, unwilling to lose the only son he had left –and Lasia’s only remaining heir –to the pond. He had hoped that Arthur’s reclusiveness in the past few years would have dulled the townspeople’s memories of the young prince, but unfortunately for Arthur, that was not the case. When it became clear that the king, who had been all too happy to sacrifice other peoples’ children, was reluctant to sacrifice his own, the townspeople became very angry, and the king was forced to act.

To put a stop to the brewing revolts, he announced that Arthur was to be taken to the banks of the pond and sacrificed in ten days’ time. Surprisingly, even to himself, Arthur was taking the news very well; it was Francis who was panicking about it. He felt guilty for being the one to draw Arthur’s name in the first place, and no amount of soothing Arthur attempted could make the king’s advisor feel any better. Francis spent those ten days trying to convince himself and Arthur that somehow everything would be okay, and sending letters to all corners of the known world asking for help from anyone who would listen. The king spent those ten days treating Arthur as though he was already dead and gone, locked himself in his room and wallowed in his kingly misery.

On the dawn of the tenth day, Arthur quelled his nerves, dressed in his finest clothing, kissed Francis on the cheek, and walked himself out to the pond with his head held high to greet his death.

Or that’s what he tried to do, but just as he was steeling himself for his impending and dignified march into the pond, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He let out a very unmanly shriek and whirled around to find his vision filled with brown, snorting, hairy horse. He shrieked again and fell back on his ass, where he was finally able to take in the whole picture; yes, it was a horse, but on the horse’s back was a man with wheat-blond hair, blue eyes, and a concerned frown marring what must have been a beautiful smile.

“Whoa, hey, you okay? Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya, dude!” The man said, sliding off his horse less than gracefully. The man offered his hand but Arthur batted it away, annoyed. “Uh, yeah. My name’s Alfred, and this here is Hero. I’m, um, not from around here, ya know, so maybe you could help me out?”

“No,” Arthur said, turning his back on the handsome stranger to face the pond, squinting at the rippling surface.

“Oh, um…okay. You’re kind of a rude fella, aren’t ya.”

Arthur turned around the stare at the stranger. He might have been handsome, but he was obviously a bumbling idiot. The man withered a bit under the prince’s hard stare and tried to stammer out an explanation.

“I-I just need to find this dude. I think his name is Francis or something like that. He sent me a letter asking for help and I don’t even know who this guy is but he sounded like he really needed it and I just happened to be passing through here on the way to this place called Britannia, which is where my company is right now and where I would be already if I hadn’t gotten lost, but I heard it’s hell up there because all the native people are going around killing the Roman soldiers, and the emperor had to build this wall to keep everyone safe but not even that’s working, and –”

“Would you just shut up, I’m trying to die here!” Arthur screeched, flapping his arms ungracefully.

The stranger’s eyes grew huge and he stuttered, “Y-you –?”

“Yes! So just leave me to die in peace already!”

Alfred turned to his horse and patted its neck. “You hear that, buddy? We get to be heroes!”

“Good lord, are you deaf? I just want you to leave!”

“No can do, mister! By the way, you still haven’t given me your name and that’s kind of rude, don’t ya think? Anyway, I’m the hero, and I always save damsels in distress!”

“My name is Arthur, and as you can bloody well see, I am no damsel,” Arthur growled.

“Well, Arthur,” Alfred murmured as he crowded into Arthur’s personal space. The goofy smile was gone, replaced by a serious glint in his eyes as he lifted a hand to stroke his thumb over the prince’s flushed cheek. “I can see that you’re no damsel. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to save you.”

Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed and he felt the stranger’s breath on his face.

‘What the hell,’ Arthur thought as he brought a hand up to fist in the stranger’s rumpled and dirty clothing. He was about to die. Letting a stranger kiss him wasn’t going to hurt anything.

Their lips were a hair’s breadth from connecting when the pond exploded and a white, gleaming body erupted from its depths.

‘A dragon,’ Arthur thought dazedly. ‘A real bloody _dragon_.’

Alfred shoved Arthur behind him and before the prince could blink, there was the _shing_ of Alfred drawing his sword and within seconds the dragon lay dead at their feet. Arthur stared at its body, and all he could think about was how the creature was quite beautiful with its white and iridescent scales winking in the pale winter sunlight. Then he transferred his stare to Alfred, who was flicking the dragon blood off his sword and sheathing it.

The man turned his gaze to the prince and beamed, obviously seeking praise.

“Well,” Arthur drawled, “that was certainly anti-climactic.”

Alfred continued to beam at him, undeterred by the prince’s mockery. Arthur sighed and shook his head, and silence fell over them as they each mulled over what to do next.

“Artie, what are you going to do now?”

“It’s ‘Arthur,’ and I don’t know. The king has already resigned himself to my death, so there’s no point in going back,” the prince said, shrugging nonchalantly when Alfred captured his hand and squeezed it in sympathy. “Oh, don’t do that, he’s been wallowing in his own misery since my brothers died, it’s almost like I haven’t existed in his eyes for the past five years.”

“Want to come with me?” Alfred blurted.

“Alfred, I don’t even know you.”

“My favorite color is green, if that helps.”

Arthur couldn’t help it, he laughed –something he hadn’t done for years. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

* * *

 

 **“And** that’s the story of a boy named Arthur, a pond, and the mysterious stranger no one remembers the name of but everyone calls George.”

“Wait, why did you call him Alfred then, if he’s known as George?”

“Yeah, and what happened next? After Prince Arthur left Lasia, I mean.”

The old King Peter of Lasia chewed on his fingernail thoughtfully as his audience waited with bated breath for him to conclude his version of the legend of Saint George.

“Well,” Peter said, “the rumor goes that Francis, the king’s advisor and Arthur’s friend, received several letters until the day he died, and those letters were all unsigned and had no return address; however, supposedly some of the content was stuff that only Arthur should have known about, things that they’d done, inside jokes, that sort of stuff. And the letters always mentioned another man named Alfred. But no records show that a soldier named Alfred ever existed in the Roman army.

“And as for what happened next…no one knows for sure. All we know is that there was a mysterious person that the Iceni called Siors, a hero who supposedly deserted the Roman army to fight for the unjust treatment of the natives of Britannia. Siors just happens to be a native name that translates to George in our language. In the end, Arthur and Alfred supposedly fell in love and lived long lives full of adventure!”

“How do you know all this?” one of the younger boys asked.

“My father, Tino, was a young stable boy under the reign of King Selinus at the time of Prince Arthur’s disappearance. After losing all of his heirs in just three years, the king went mad and his advisors, under the urging of Francis, appointed my father as regent due to his relationship as Selinus’ nephew. Obviously since my father married Berwald instead of a woman, I was adopted. But as some of you know, Tino was a great storyteller, and he passed on the story of Prince Arthur’s life to me.

“He always said it was important to keep talking about the past, to make sure we learn from it. So the lesson to take away from the legend of Saint George is that we must always hold out hope for our futures. Fear and doubt may get the better of us sometimes, but we are capable of conquering those fears and doubts, and once we do, nothing can hold us back.”


	2. Iceni Magni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This story is about a young man named Arthur, a pond, and a mysterious soldier no one remembers the name of."

**By** the time Alfred and Arthur arrived in Britannia, they had unmistakably fallen in love with one another. They had only known each other for a few short months, but necessity had brought trust; the world was hard and cold, and with bandits and murderers and lawless tribes on the lookout for the next victim, it was either learn to trust each other or die. Luckily Arthur had found it very easy to trust the bumbling Roman soldier. In fact, they were so natural with each other that the months-long trip from Lasia to Londinium passed them by quickly; it felt like mere days since Arthur had left his kingdom without so much as a word of goodbye.

Upon their arrival in Londinium, they had been promptly sent on to a garrison called Eboracum, which according to the sentry at the gate, had been the home of the Legio IX Hispania. _Had_ been. Past tense. Upon entering the garrison Arthur noticed Alfred tense, rather than relax from relief.

“These are not the men of the 9th Legion,” he had said, voice cold and unforgiving.

“No, sir. The 9th Legion disappeared a few months ago. Wiped off the face of the earth by the pagan bitch Boudicca.”

After that, any of Arthur’s attempts to sooth the soldier went unheeded or were outright refused.

* * *

 

**A** few days later Arthur had come back from the garrison market place to find Alfred pacing in their tent, looking angry and worked up. He set the food down on the small wooden table and snatched the soldier’s hand in mid-pace. Alfred turned on him and snarled, “I should have known!”

Alfred had never shown him any violence, so Arthur stood his ground against the agitated Roman and calmly looked into Alfred’s eyes. “Alfred, what’s going on?”

“I knew that Roman soldiers were being killed,” the soldier muttered, and just like that the fire went out and he was left to sag into the ex-prince, energy spent. “I thought… I thought I was fighting for the good side. I was angry that the 9th Legion had been massacred. But then I overheard some of the soldiers in drill bragging about how they had raped Iceni and Pict women and children, and even killed them. Women and children, Arthur! I didn’t sign up for this!”

Arthur signed and sat Alfred down on his cot, gathering the blond into his arms and stroking a comforting hand through his hair. “I know, love. I know, it’s okay.”

“Artie…”

Alfred looked up at him then, frowning in confusion. He looked like a lost child, and Arthur’s heart twisted and ached for him.

“What do I do now?”

“Oh Alfred, you know I’ll follow you whatever you choose to do.”

Alfred made his decision later that week, and on the next dark moon they left the garrison. Desertion was slow going; the forest floor was dark and uneven, and every so often Alfred would put his soldier training to work and double them back, or force Arthur into a river to throw off their tracks for a few miles.

Alfred covered the miles like they were nothing, but Arthur had been a prince and had been kept inside for the majority of his life, and he knew full well that it was because of him that they stopped to rest so often. Despite being completely shattered, Arthur was always afraid that they would get caught if they stopped for more than a few minutes, such was the might of the Roman army.

As a result they ran practically non-stop for two days, until they met a roadblock. Literally.

That had been a few days ago, and even though they discussed and they argued, they still hadn’t figured out what to do about Hadrian’s Wall. The most they had done was agree that they needed to be on the other side of the wall; they couldn’t seem to figure out how to go about doing that, and time was running out. They were nearly at their wits end when Alfred had gone out into the trees to take a piss and brought someone back with him.

‘A child,’ Arthur thought, his heart sinking. Alfred was such a kind man, he didn’t have it in him to hurt children…did he?

He shouldn’t have worried, because as the duo drew closer he could hear them conversing. Arthur had had no idea Alfred knew any other language, and to hear him talking to someone who was obviously a native of Albion was somewhat of a shock. Alfred read the look of surprise on his companion’s face and rushed to explain.

“Some of us were taught some of the languages of the native tribes, by officers who have already served their time in Britannia and come back to Rome. I am just lucky that this guy is Iceni and not from any other tribe, otherwise we would have been in trouble!”

Arthur let himself relax a bit and sent Alfred a tight, nervous smile. The Roman soldier sighed and stepped forward to run his knuckles across Arthur’s smooth cheek.

“I’m sorry, I know this whole thing is kind of scary to you. Hell, I’ve had training and even I’m…well, not scared, _obviously_ , but I’m definitely nervous. It’s going to be okay.”

In a momentary lapse of judgment, Arthur hummed and dragged Alfred down for a kiss. The child, who had been all but forgotten in the background, started laughing at them, and the ex-prince of Lasia jumped at the sound. Alfred cradled Arthur’s face in his large hands and laughed right along with the child, the git. The Lasian humphed and made sure Alfred knew he was receiving the cold shoulder until the soldier had apologized enough to appease the angry and embarrassed prince.

“Come on, Saemu said he knows a way around the wall. He’ll take us to the tribe. He said we should be safe.”

“Right,” Arthur muttered, his soothed nerves flaring to life once more.

* * *

 

**Getting** over the wall took exactly three hours and nearly all of Arthur’s strength and patience. Arthur felt ready to either rip his hair out or punch something by the time all six of their feet landed on the Albion side of the wall. Alfred, of course, was still bouncing full of energy.

The ex-Lasian prince rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile from springing up. Alfred was an idiot, but he was Arthur’s idiot. Time traveling with him had shown the prince that Alfred was practically perfect, but definitely a little naïve, too. He had tried to show Alfred that he was interested in doing a little bit more than kissing, but the soldier acted like he hadn’t gotten the memo. Arthur knew Alfred, though, knew he was smarter than he let on, so the soldier had to have a reason for brushing off Arthur’s advances. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d backed off.

Arthur complained, but if he was honest with himself he wasn’t starved of affection. Even then, as they were walking through the dark forest on the way to the tribe’s village, he could feel Alfred’s steady hand on his arm, his shoulder, his lower back, his waist. The Roman soldier’s touch not only kept him from stumbling in the dark, but served to reassure him as well.

They had barely been walking for an hour when suddenly they emerged from the woods and into a massive clearing, complete with squat wooden houses, a well, and a fire pit for cooking. They didn’t have time to take in the sights, though, because as soon as they stepped out of the woods, Iceni sentries were on them.

Arthur went down like a sack of potatoes, having never been trained in the art of hand-to-hand because of his status as a fourth son, but he managed to wriggle out of his attacker’s grip just enough to crawl away. He almost made it back to the edge of the woods when a cry of pain distracted him. Alfred had managed to drop a few Iceni tribesmen, but he had taken a sharp hit to the abdomen and had ended writhing on the ground as more tribesmen rushed in to secure the threat.

Arthur’s distraction allowed the sentry he had fended off to recover, and he found himself in a chokehold, feet lifted completely off the ground. He wheezed for breath as the man spat out harsh-sounding words to catch Alfred’s attention.

The soldier looked up, his face paling when he saw Arthur. He replied in that foreign language that Arthur was coming to despise, and suddenly he was dropped back to his feet again, gasping in relief. The man sauntered over to Alfred and started talking to him. Arthur didn’t bother trying to follow the conversation, instead watching the changes in Alfred’s face as the minutes passed by.

Eventually the tribesman who had been talking to Alfred gestured to the gathering crowd, who gave a raucous yell in response to something he said. The Lasian inched closer to the soldier until they were close enough to whisper.

“Al, what the bloody fuck is going on here?” Arthur muttered, glancing sideways at his Roman paramour.

“He asked me to pledge my allegiance to the Iceni tribe, I said no, he threatened to kill us, I told him I knew Saemu, he asked Saemu if he knew us and when he said yes, he told me we wouldn’t be killed but we would have to go through a… Well, I don’t know how to translate the word but it’s something like a trust exercise. And apparently they’re not telling us when it’s going to happen.”

“Alfred,” Arthur whispered in disbelief.

“Antedi –that’s his name –promised me that the Iceni would let us live in peace in their village if we agreed to do…whatever it is they want us to do. It’s in our best interest to try and be peaceful with these guys so we don’t attract more attention from the Roman military.”

“Makes sense,” the ex-prince muttered. Alfred smiled lopsidedly at him.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything will be okay,” the soldier said, leaning his forehead against Arthur’s. Despite the situation the prince felt himself relaxing as Alfred’s nose ran along his, soothing him and bringing the world down to a narrow point where only they existed.

Behind him, one of the Iceni murmured something that made Alfred jerk his face away and blush furiously.

“What,” Arthur hissed, angry and frustrated by the entire situation.

“Ah, he was, um… Implying something. About, um. Shit,” Alfred muttered, not making eye contact. “Said we should get married, we’re obviously fucking.”

Arthur slapped a hand to his forehead in agitation and the Iceni man laughed. Despite the situation, Arthur couldn’t help but crack an embarrassed smile.

“Al, are we going to be okay here?”

“I think so, Artie. It’s lookin’ up.”

* * *

 

**“Alfred,** it’s been four days and nothing’s happened. I’m starting to think these Iceni people are playing one big mindfuck on us,” Arthur muttered, hauling up the water bucket from the well.

“I know, Artie. We just gotta be patient. This is kind of an important thing, ya know.”

Arthur sighed and glared at the half-full bucket in frustration. “It’s just frustrating that I can’t understand a bloody thing they say.”

“Ah, that would be frustrating. If you’d like I can teach you later tonigh—”

A riotous crash echoed around the village, interrupting Alfred’s sentence and causing quite a commotion among the villagers.

“Al –”

“Intrusion,” the soldier explained, dropping the bundle of logs he’d been gathering for the cooking fires. He grabbed the axe he’d been using to chop the wood and followed the rest of the Iceni tribesmen who were rushing to the edges of the clearing and scampering up trees.

‘Ah, so that’s how they surprised us when we first arrived.’

Arthur had nothing with which to defend himself, so he picked up one of the skinner, longer logs and hurried it over to the cooking pit. Luckily for him the cooking pit’s fires were lit all day, and he was able to light the end of his log to use as a weapon. Armed, he started toward the edge of the clearing when a hulking man painted in blue and white jumped practically on top of him, giving him no room to maneuver. His weapon, now useless because of its long-range purpose, was easily knocked out of his hands.

‘Where are the other Iceni,’ he thought frantically as he crawled backwards, away from his assailant. Several more painted people swarmed the village, heading straight for the food hut. If he didn’t try to stop them, they would steal the entire village’s harvest.

The ex-prince stopped crawling, shocking the familiar-looking painted man above him, and drew his knees up to his chest to kick at his attacker’s abdomen. He had to defend the village!

“Oooph!” The painted man cried, doubling in pain. “Stop stop _stop_!”

Arthur stopped and stared. “…Alfred?”

The man wheezed in response, and Arthur remembered that Alfred had been hit in the stomach when they’d first arrived. Oops.

“Alfred, what the bloody shitting _fuck._ ” He made sure to emphasize the last three words with a kick.

“Artie, stop, I’ll explain!” Arthur raised a thick eyebrow, urging him to continue. “I thought this was a real attack until I went into the woods. They explained to me that we would be doing a mock raid on the village. Yeah, apparently they do that,” he tacked on in response to Arthur’s look of disbelief. “Anyway, they told me that this was my test. They wanted to see what kind of person I was, if I would be useful to them as a warrior, that sort of stuff.

“And this was your test, too. They wanted to see if you would defend the village even if there wasn’t anyone else around.”

Antedi approached them then, guffawing and holding his stomach. Arthur scowled, just knowing that the man was laughing as his attempt to defend the village. Antedi said something which must have been excellent news, because he suddenly found himself lifted off the ground and swung around in a bear hug by a laughing Alfred. He hit at Alfred’s shoulders a few times before he gave in and wrapped his arms around Alfred’s neck and nuzzling the man’s cheek.

“Artie, we passed!”

He didn’t think he’d ever heard such a beautiful sentence. Finally, some peace in his life.

And then the moment was ruined when Antedi said, “You look like stupid HA HA HA.”

“…WHAT THE HELL. YOU KNEW MY LANGUAGE _THE WHOLE TIME_?!”

* * *

 

**Apparently** their passing the crazy Iceni trust test meant a feast was in order. Luckily there’d been alcohol available, and Arthur had already drunk himself into a state of perpetual happiness by the time the first course was presented. By the time the last course was presented, _everyone_ was pretty shitfaced.

It became obvious that Alfred was absolutely pissed when he got up to try and re-enact his attack on Arthur and nearly fell over into the fire pit. And when Arthur reached up to steady him, Alfred had grinned wickedly and groped him.

That was the end of their festivities. Well, the public festivities, perhaps. Once Arthur had gotten over being embarrassed publicly in such a way, the two had stumbled back past the cabin they’d been staying in and ended up making love against the back wall of the storage shed.

“Ah god Arthur. Arthur Arthur I love you,” Alfred moaned against the skin of his neck as he thrust into him. Arthur moaned brokenly in reply and clung to Alfred’s broad shoulders. He could feel himself slipping down the wall, but both men were too drunk to care.

The sex was, objectively, neither amazing nor did it last long, but it was some of the best sex of Arthur’s life. It wasn’t until they were both finished, panting and unable to support themselves on jelly-like legs, that Arthur replied to Alfred’s declaration of love.

“I love you, too, Alfred. And I never said thank you for saving me.”

“From the dragon?”

“No.” Alfred looked up at him, confused, and Arthur smiled and ran a hand through the soldier’s sweaty hair fondly. “Well, yes, but I guess I also mean thank you for saving me from loneliness. I never realized what a depressing and lonely life I was leading until I was standing at that pond, ready to die. Then you showed up, and showed me this world of adventure and love and companionship. So…thank you.”

 “I was just doing my job. I’m a professional hero! I mean literally, I am a soldier…or was…but to tell you the truth I think I might’ve fallen in love with you the moment I saw you glaring at that pond. It was really adorable,” the man teased, poking Arthur’s cheek with a forefinger. Arthur scowled and batted his hand away and Alfred laughed.

They were silent for a moment, staring up at the large moon and taking in the sounds of the party nearby.

“We still don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, but I suppose we’ve got the rest of our lives to figure that out, yeah?”

“…yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand Alfred continues to defend basic human rights, becomes known as Siors by those he defends, and lives happily ever after with Arthur, with whom he has lots and lots of sex. Wee!  
> The timeline: 121AD –Iceni Magni takes place.  
> The names: Iceni Magni –Great Iceni. Antedi and Saemu –names of actual Iceni kings. Londinium –the Roman name for London. Britannia –the ancient name for England. Albion –the ancient name for Scotland. Eboracum –an actual Roman garrison, actual ‘home’ of the 9th Legion.  
> The history: Legio IX Hispania, also known as the Ninth Legion of Rome, was originally from Roman-occupied Spain. They disappeared around 120AD without a trace. It was said that Iceni Queen Boudicca ambushed them because the Romans ignored the fact that her husband left the kingdom to Boudicca’s daughters when he died, and they tried to take over the Iceni kingdom themselves. Not much is known about the Iceni themselves.  
> TG © February 2012

**Author's Note:**

> The Timeline: 102AD –Arthur and Alfred born around this time (Alfred’s a bit younger). 113AD –Berwald and Tino born around this time (Tino’s a bit younger). 120AD –main part of Ascalon takes place. 133AD –Tino and Berwald become regent rulers in place of the now insane king. 143AD –Peter born, adopted by Berwald and Tino a few years later. 200AD –last part of Ascalon takes place.  
> The random details: Alfred is a 17 year old Roman soldier of the legendary 9th Legion. He got lost on the way to Britannia with his legion. Just after the legion arrived in Britannia it was wiped off the face of the earth (but Alfred isn’t aware until the second installment of this fic). The reason Peter refers to Alfred as Alfred is because his parents were close to the source of the legend. Most other people refer to Alfred as George because that’s how the legend has been muddled over the years.  
> The legend: There are several versions of the legend of St George, and I combined bits of them to make my own story. The most common version of the legend is this: in the city of Lasia (which was fictional) or in the Libyan city of Silene, there is a pond in which a plague-causing dragon lives. The townspeople have to feed it sheep to keep it happy, but the sheep don’t work so they end up creating a lottery and sacrificing children instead. The king’s daughter is chosen and he tries to bribe the citizens with gold and silver, but in the end they make him follow through. The princess meets a wandering Roman soldier named George at the pond, the two converse, and the while they are talking the dragon pops out of the water and George slays it. Then they drag the dragon back to the town and frighten its citizens into converting to Christianity XD  
> The names: Ascalon –St George’s sword (and incidentally the name of Churchill’s personal plane during WWII). Siors –Welsh name for George, which means earthworker. Alasdair –Scotland. Rhys –Wales. Padraig –N. Ireland.  
> The history: The Romans invaded Britannia in 43AD, and Hadrian’s Wall was built around 122AD by Emperor Hadrian. The 9th Legion disappeared right around the time Hadrian’s Wall was built; supposedly it was attacked by Iceni Queen Boudica.  
> TG © February 2012


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